Accountability
by haluan
Summary: The Chantry is burning and the ashes are bitter. Hawke can't allow another death tonight, even if he deserves it. One-shot. Unrequited Handers with some Fenhawke.


Kirkwall is burning and Anders bears the weight of responsibility wearily.

In truth, he had not expected to make it this far. Or rather, he hadn't planned at all. He thought his work would be finished once the Chantry went up in flames, not that he would still be alive, fighting beside the one he expected would end his life for his treachery.

Knight Commander Meredith, or what used to be the Knight Commander smolders in the Gallows courtyard while the rest of the Templars stare on in shock. He wishes it felt like a victory, but it doesn't. When Justice- Vengeance had proposed the plan, when he had taken the steps to set it into motion, it felt like the right thing to to. It still did, in a way, but he hadn't been prepared for the carnage, for the albatross of all those deaths to settle so heavily upon his shoulders.

Cullen manages to tear his eyes away from the ashen statue, looking at them with a mix of disbelief and awe. Hawke draws herself up from the hunched position she had taken, braced against the blinding heat of the red lyrium, leaning on her stave. Beside her, Fenris holsters his massive sword, drawing close to her protectively. The rest of their allies pull together from their scattered positions: Isabela helps Merrill hobble along, holding the broken pieces of the Dalish girl's staff in her other hand. Donnic, Carver, Nathaniel Howe, and the Antivan Crow Zevran Arianai all back up toward the entrance of the Gallows, coming back to back in the circle of Templars. They ready themselves for a second battle. Though unspoken, all who have stood with Hawke will not allow themselves to Templar custody.

Without warning, the Knight Captain gives them a reverent bow. His subordinates follow. Hawke's head snaps back and forth in shock, taking in massive number of shining suits of armor, going down on one knee before them. Varric laughs in disbelief.

Before anyone can change their minds, she acknowledges their bows, returning theirs with a stunted one of her own. He notices she's clutching her ribs tightly.

"I think we should leave now," Isabela suggests quietly, hefting Merrill up on her hip.

"Exit stage right, then," Hawke stage-whispers, waving them back. They back out of the Gallows, all eyes on them. No one tries to stop him even as he walks away with Hawke, nor when they are out of sight, stumbling out of the main courtyard like drunkards after last call.

Varric is the first to speak, long after they've made the silent boat ride back to the city proper. "I can't believe that just happened." It sounds like he's gargled with more broken glass than usual.

"Please tell me we are going to go get absolutely shitfaced," Isabela pleads. On her arm, Merrill moans faintly, her head lolling in the vague form of an agreeing nod.

"While the city goes up in flames?" Aveline coughs. Her voice is hoarse and her face is streaked with soot and black, crumbling blood mixed with her own, bright red, seeping from her nose. "We need to get things under control. Undoubtedly looters and rioters have already taken advantage of the situation."

"We can stay to give aid for a time," Nathaniel offers, Carver nods, rolling his shoulders. "Doubt you'd do without our help, huh , Sister?"

Over the years, Anders has watched Hawke's relationship with her younger brother grow from rivalry to friendship, if only a tenuous one. Hawke grins at her sibling, brushing his shoulder with hers. "I had a feeling all this excitement would draw you out."

"That, or half off on a night at the Rose," Varric smirks.

Carver tactfully ignores that comment. "Can't let you have all the fun without me."

"Zevran, Nathaniel, I certainly didn't expect to see you here," Hawke addresses, turning toward them.

"I was just passing through, believe it or not," the blonde elf smiles brightly. "What luck that I should have the privilege of fighting beside you again, lovely Lady Hawke." Fenris scoffs, hovering just behind Hawke, looking more irritated and distrustful than usual.

"We were passing through too, in a manner of speaking," Nathaniel answers, gesturing to himself and the younger Hawke sibling.

"How fortuitous for us, then," Aveline says. "We should hurry. Maker knows what's going on in the lower levels of the city."

Hawke nods, staring at the ground as she begins to form a plan. He watches her, eyes glinting from beneath locks of dark, wayward hair and a spray of blood.

"Merrill needs rest, immediately," she starts, nodding to the elf still barely holding herself up with the pirate's help.

Merrill shakes her head weakly at Hawke's order. "No, really, I'm fine, I can still help-"

"No you can't, and you aren't," Isabela tells her. "Listen to Hawke." Weakly, the Dalish girl agrees. Carver scoops her up without preamble, against her protests, holding her like a bride. He looks to his sister. "Where can we go?"

"Aveline?" Hawke asks, deferring to the Guard Captain.

"I need to get to the Keep and see to the state of the guard. From there, we can organize a sweep of Kirkwall."

"I'm with you," Donnic assures her, and Anders sees the look that passes between them. Respect. Love.

"Alright. Everyone who's wounded, head to the Keep. Get yourselves checked over. I'll meet you there." Hawke starts off on her own, gait uneven.

"Where are you going if not with us?" Fenris demands, stopping her. "I'm not leaving you alone, Hawke."

"I won't be alone. I need to go back to my estate and and make sure Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana are safe, as well as get more ingredients for potions. Anders and I aren't enough to heal all the wounded on our own. "

"Anders is going with you?" Aveline asks, brows furrowed, looking at him with intense distrust.

"Yes. I need him to ensure that-"

"No," Fenris shakes his head. "Take him if you must but I will not allow you to be alone with him."

"She won't be alone," Varric says, patting Bianca. "I'll go with them. Keep them out of trouble. The captain needs you more than she needs me." Aveline doesn't argue, but it seems more out of desperation for things to get moving.

Fenris does not look very assured by that, but time is wasting, and pleading screams are echoing across the city.

"I'm not going to hurt her," Anders finds himself saying. Saying as much seems to have the effect opposite of the one he was hoping for. Fenris curls his fists. "You would not survive the attempt."

"I'll be fine," Hawke assures him, reaching for him. He immediately responds to her touch, head tilting to the side to meet her cupped palm. He raises a hand, far more gently than Anders would have ever thought possible, brushing Hawke's face in return. Anders looks away, gnawing jealousy threatening to consume him. That could have been him.

She could have been his.

Fenris speaks to her gently, an entreaty, even though the words aren't audible. She whispers something back, and his flickers with a mixture of emotion. "...won't lose me," Anders can hear her say, as she kisses her lover.

"Hey, do I get a goodbye kiss too?" Isabela grins, tapping the side of her cheek. Hawke sputters, face red, but blows the pirate a kiss.

"Quit poaching, Bela," Varric smirks.

"We'll see you at the Keep. If you aren't back in a timely manner I'm sending out a search party," Aveline informs. It's only part jest.

"We won't be long," Varric assures them.

"Be careful, Sister," Carver says, Merrill quietly echoing his sentiment.

"Aren't I always?" Hawke smiles, leaving no pause for any comment to the contrary. With a last farewell, Anders, Hawke, and Varric set off for Hawke's estate.

"I gotta ask Blondie, what did you think you were going to accomplish with this?" Varric gestures across the burning city skyline. "Were Tuesday nights just getting too boring for you?" His words contain their normal humor but his tone is harsh.

"Everything goes to the Void on Tuesdays, I swear," Hawke mumbles, nudging some rubble out of her way and shimmying through downed timber supports.

"Things had to change. If you think I would do this for entertainment's sake, you obviously don't know me very well."

"That would seem to be the case," the marksman fires back, "wouldn't it?"

Anders is wondering if he should even bother to respond several thugs pour out of the shadows and into the only route through the rubble.

Hawke holds back but when the leader draws his sword Anders doesn't miss a beat, flinging a fireball right into their ranks. Whoever isn't immediately immolated gets a followup arrow courtesy of Varric, and Hawke picks off the stragglers. It barely lasts a moment, but at the same time it feels so long. More death he's responsible for.

From there on out they do their best to stay out of sight, narrowly avoiding a group of templars struggling from their wounds but looking for escaped mages, no doubt. There was no guarantee they would be as lenient as the ones that had seen what had happened to Meredith.

When they finally reach Hawke's manor, she bursts inside, hurrying them through the door and slamming it behind them. "Sandal! Bodahn! Orana!" she calls, voice echoing through the empty foyer.

The fireplace is cold.

"Varric," Hawke says, eyes flicking to the stairs. He nods and begins the assent, quietly tiptoeing up the edges of the stairs.

Anders follows Hawke, into the library. Books are strewn across the floor, and a portrait of the late Leandra Amell-Hawke is precariously balanced on the mantle, having fallen from it's mount. Hawke lifts the frame gently and looks at the portrait for a moment, her face hidden from him. And then she sets it down, leaning against the wall for a moment. Her eyes flicker shut and a whimper escapes her lips. He's at her side in a second, prying her hand away from her ribs. It's sticky with blood.

"You're hurt," he states, sounding incredibly foolish. Of course she was hurt.

Hawke shakes her head. "It's nothing."

"Let me heal you."

"Don't be foolish, Anders. It's nothing, really." The pallor of her face and the darkening of the bruises under her eyes says otherwise. She looks into his eyes and he digs his fingernails into his palms. When he looks at her his resolve wavers. The worst is done now, but even so, it takes everything he has not to break in front of her. He doesn't regret his actions, but there's just so much weight...

He begins to heal her, despite her protest, closing the gash in her side. She grimaces, a small cry escaping her throat before the pain ceases.

"I should have killed you," she half laughs, half whispers, voice breaking.

It feels like he's been hit with a brick. His heart stutters. His crime is the worst imaginable, but even so, some unspoken part of him had hoped that... He doesn't know what he had hoped for.

Even so, he doesn't blame her.

He draws a small dagger from his belt and wraps her fingers around it, setting the point in between two ribs, over his heart.

"I'd rather it be you than anyone else."

She snatches her hand away and casts the dagger across the room.

"You fool."

Without another word she stands and turns away, beginning to gather supplies: elfroot, phials of precious lyrium, and puts them in her bag. "You idiot." The jar of dried embrium clinks against the flasks. "You complete and utter-"

"Hawke-"

"Don't you dare!" she snaps, eyes blazing. "You could have told me. You could have trusted me!"

"You would have stopped me. I had to do this."

"No, you didn't!" She's practically pleading. "We were changing things, Anders. You and I! We were making a difference in this city. Meredith was crazy and corrupt but we would have ousted her eventually!"

"And how many mages would have died while we waited?"

"How many died tonight because of Vengeance!? I know it was the spirit, Anders. You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me. I should have seen it... I should have known." Her voice drops, wavering. "Now you're a wanted man. Templars, the Chantry, everyone will be out for your head. Don't think they'll let you have a nice, clean execution, either. If they do kill you, they'll make you a spectacle. Drag it out, make you suffer. You know that. And if they don't, they'll..." She doesn't say it but they both know what she means. Tranquility. Make an example of him. "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

"Am I not your worst enemy now?"

He's terrified to look at her, but he does anyway. Her face breaks his heart. She's so beautiful, and so, so kind. Why did it have to be her? Why did it have to be him?

"Never, Anders." She lets go of her bag and reaches for him, wrapping her slender fingers around his own. Clear tear tracks run down her beautiful, soot covered face. "You are my friend. Nothing will ever change that."

He's sure he can hear his own heart cracking into pieces in his chest. She embraces him, and he holds onto her like a man drowning. "I can never say I accept what you've done, but, I understand why."

He had forgotten what it was to lean on someone. He had forgotten that she had been there every step of the way. Had Vengeance blinded him?

"Hawke," he chokes.

"If not Tranquility they'll lock you up at Aonar and let you rot. I can't let that happen to you. Even you don't deserve that."

He can barely muster more than whisper. "The dead may not agree." As long as he keeps breathing her scent he feels like he almost has a grip on himself.

"Elthina and I once spoke about retribution," she tells him, her breath tickling the back of his neck. She's wrapped around him, blessedly warm and reassuring. "She told me 'Death is never justice'."

"Then what, Hawke?"

She pulls away and the void leaves him aching for her arms. He doesn't want to let her go. He's not even sure if he can.

"You have to run."

Hawke turns and starts scrambling, producing another bag from behind a bookshelf, and he hears the tell-tale jangling of coins.

"Hawke-"

"Don't tell me where, just pick a direction and go. You can get out unseen through the Darktown tunnels. This should be enough to ensure you can get where you're going." She thrusts the bag into his hands.

"Hawke..."

"And you have to leave now, before everyone can get organized. I'll tell them that we got separated, or you were pinned under some falling debris-"

"Hawke, I can't run and leave you with the consequences of my actions."

"It's preferable to the alternative. I can't let them hurt you. I failed you once. I won't let it happen again. I should have..."

"It wasn't your fault, Hawke."

She doesn't argue, but he knows she doesn't accept that. She never will.

"It doesn't matter who's to blame, now. What's done is done." She takes a deep breath, and puts herself back together, and he tries so hard to do the same. "You need to get out of here. Don't make me drag you off."

Maker, he wishes. He wants to run away from it all with her. Run from this burden. He can't resist reaching out to touch her again, to feel the thrum of her magic against his own, to memorize the planes of her face and the curve of her neck.

This might be the last time he ever has the chance to do so.

On impulse he leans forward and brushes a kiss across her lips. What does he have left to lose, after all? She freezes at the contact, and then responds, pressing against him, reciprocating his love.

Love.

It's all he wanted.

She pulls away first, panting. "Anders..."

"Do you ever wonder at what we could have been?"

"...I do."

"I love you, Marian. And I'm sorry."

Hawke nods. "I know."

To his surprise, she leans in again and kisses him. Somewhere in that touch he can feel her longing too. Once... Once they might have had a chance. In another world, another time. He pulls her close and breathes her in. If he can die with this memory of her (and he has no doubt he will, soon), he will be able to bear it.

So he holds on to the feeling of her mouth and her waist and her hips pressed against him. He shields himself with that feeling and wills himself to back away.

"I love you."

"Go, Anders," she says, but her voice is shaking and she won't look at him. "Maker guide you."

"Goodbye, Hawke."

"Are you sure you made the right choice?" Varric asks, offering Hawke his handkerchief. She swipes it across her face, and then laughs. It's breathy and broken but it's a laugh.

"No. But I rarely am." She takes a moment to collect herself. "Are Bodahn, and the others-"

"Fine. A little rattled, but alright. Your hound kept them safe."

The best news she's had in a while. "We should get them out of here before trouble comes calling."

"As if it hasn't already. But... I'm serious Hawke. If he pulls any more revolutionary stunts, it will be on your head. Not to mention...this."

Hawke shrugs, her blasé facade settling back into place. "I'm a smoother talker than he is."

Varric sighes, and leaves to retrieve the dwarves and Orana.

Hawke breathes. Her lips still burn from his kiss. Oh, how she wishes things could have been different. If only he hadn't been the one to suffer, or if it hadn't been necessary at all, from anyone. If only she could have returned his love the way he deserved.

"If only," she sighs. But not to be. Kirkwall awaits her. Her remaining friends await her. Responsibility awaits her.

And she bears the burden wearily.

I haven't posted for like 84 years but this game haunts my dreams so here you go y'all, please enjoy!


End file.
